Lost in an angry shroud of gray, the mist goes on and on. Left in front of the other foot as left goes on to right. I look for comfort from ones face but he just turns away. Empathy is not of his skin, he could never know my pain. Left in front of the other foot, I unwillingly trudge on. Some unknown power holds me like a puppet and yet my limbs still move on. My mind is numb, no it's not the drink, I'd rather forget all life. Forget I ever took a breath and came to know this strife. The one top he despises me, looks down from his pointed nose. He frowns at me, has me right where he wants. But I'll show him. I'll continue to climb on. He doesn't want me to make it. He doesn't want me to shine. Doesn't want to show others how I can do it. He'd rather use for my gifts and talents. Rather use me for gain and appeal. He would rather not put forth the effort to mentor me, he'd rather use and abuse. He is lazy and unorganized, a drunk and a superficial coward. He doesn't know butt from face and he is stopping me from advancing in this wasteland of a cesspool humanity calls home. But unfortunately it's all I have right now and now that person, no not him, the first one with no empathy asks questions. Now he is concerned? No. It's the wind. Always there but with no substance.
